


There's Gotta Be an Ariana Grande Song About This

by PaperAnn



Series: PaperAnn's Kink Bingo 2017 Works [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Case, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Canon Compliant, Dean is In Over His Head, Established Relationship, Fae Magic, Fluff and Humor, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Rimming, Season/Series 12, Sex Pollen, Smut, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperAnn/pseuds/PaperAnn
Summary: No matter where they are, no matter what disguise they’ve donned and roles they play for the day, one thing remains the same—Dean has sticky fingers. It’s like he doesn’t believe a label unless he touches the damn thing! You’d think after being cut by real swords, knocking countless (priceless) artifacts over, and being under the influence of cursed objects; he’d learn his lesson.No.  Of-fucking-course Dean would destroy an urn filled to the brim with fae magic that turns him into a sex maniac.  Maybe this will be the wake-up call he needs to look but not touch!





	There's Gotta Be an Ariana Grande Song About This

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Kink Bingo 2017  
> Square Filled: Sex Pollen
> 
> Lots of love to my darling beta and wifey [whataboutthefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish/pseuds/what_about_the_fish/works) <3

****Sam tried to focus on the notepad in front of him rather than the clattering of his brother making a damn mess of the antique shop.  It was just like after they’d ‘inherited’ the bunker, Dean was like a kid in a candy store — poking and prodding to see if everything was real.  And _of_ fucking _course_ , it was real!  
  
They were brought to the shop in search of cursed objects.  They were willed down a family line to another unsuspecting grandson who met his end, bloody, on the end of one of those heirlooms.  Now, it was time to collect and disarm them.  Yet, Dean refused keep his hands to himself, testing out the merchandise, or whatever he called it.

After multiple crashes, and _‘Sorry_!s’ heard from above, Sam couldn’t control the roll of his eyes.  When he looked at their antique broker, he seemed to be in shock.  Like, he wanted to snap that his acquisitions were fragile and even the FBI should have the good sense to keep their filthy mitts off—but that was the thing.

He was afraid of the fake FBI.  As he should be because, let’s face it, they looked damn intimidating.  
  
On his notepad, Sam had a list of names (only two, thank God) of family members who’d inherited some items from the estate.  So the first thing they needed to do was check those out, deem if they were loaded with some dark magic, and seize them if necessary.  The rest of the items were here, and he insisted to the dealer not to sell those.  
  
“Thank you for your time, sir,” Sam tried to sound kind, but he was annoyed with his ‘partner.’  “We’ll give you a holler if we have anymore questions.”  
  
More questions wouldn’t be happening.  They planned on sneaking into the shop in the middle of the night, figuring out what was real by the sigils, an EMF reader and taking the good stuff hostage.

There was visible relief in the man’s posture, like he was thanking Heaven above they’d be gone, that the wreckage to his shop would end—

“Fuckin’ a!”

Until Dean’s final shout, and yep—that was _definitely_ the sound of something big and expensive _shattering_ on the ground.

“Shit,” Sam hissed, and shot upstairs to where his brother was being an idiotic child.  “Dean, you can’t just—!”

The older Winchester was strangely motionless, crouched over a demolished urn on the floor.  Yeah, Sam would say that by the shattered clay and the lacquer it was expensive, indeed.  And...old.  But there were remnants of something that had kicked up into the air.  It was dusting his brother’s Fed suit, it had cascaded all over the floor, and Dean sneezed in the midst of it.

“Please, tell me you didn’t just roll in someone’s ashes.  They had to be important, dammit!”  It was the only thing that Sam could make of this mess!  Even though ashes wouldn’t necessarily be _gold_...  He called down to the man from the balcony and apologized profusely, “The FBI will pay you for damages, what’s this bronze-glazed vase?  Was there, uh, something valuable inside of it?”

Sam watched the man’s face transform from confusion, to a small grin and then a barked, “You two should leave.  Don’t worry about the urn, just get out of my shop before you break anything else!”

With a squint, Sam tried to get a better read on the guy, because why would he be turning down money and growing a backbone _now_ , of all times?  He turned to Dean, who was still hunched over, frozen on the carpet covered in that crap, and patted his back.  It didn’t work at first, so Sam smack him.  This time much harder.

“We gotta go, dude!  Brush that crap off you so we can head to the civilians place’s who were part of the will, I have a feeling there are more cursed objects that—”

Sam stopped in his tracks when Dean finally whipped around and looked back at him, because his eyes were wide, he was breathing heavy and sweating.  Like he’d come down with a fever in the course of a minute.  Sam’s first instinct was the vase was not holding the remains of a loved one, this was _legit_ , so he jammed one of the pieces of the pottery into his breast pocket and sunk to his knees to feel Dean’s forehead.  
  
The last thing he needed was another hex on his brother!  Why was Dean always the target when it came to things like this?!

“Hey, hey, are you alright?  What’s going on?  Do you feel—”

“Shit—shouldn’t have done that, Sammy,” Dean all but growled, and tackled him to the floor.

Sam was flailing and in over his head as Dean pinned him down and kissed him roughly, breathless and _needy_.  It took everything Sam had to pry his body off, since Dean had the physical advantage from above him.  It didn’t work—his brother was too fucking strong, so instead, Sam grabbed Dean’s cheeks to stare at him, commanding his attention.

“ _Dean_!” Sam shouted, trying to get through to him.  “What’s happening?!  Jesus, keep it in your pants, you—”

There was a glint of helplessly way back beyond the pure sensual arousal he was exuding, which told Sam he was spiraling and couldn’t fight it, “I-I _can’t_!  It—”

“Get out of here!” the man from downstairs roared, and that was when it clicked into Sam’s brain.

While he was fighting off a ravenous Dean, he was also shouting down at the owner, “You knew about this!  You were playing dumb the whole time!  What the hell—how do we fix this?!  Tell me or I’ll shoot out your knee caps!”  The threat was very real, because Dean was bucking and grinding down against Sam’s now-erect cock.

Even though Sam’s mouth was finally free, Dean switched his tactic from brutal assault to forceful seduction, sucking on Sam’s neck.  From downstairs, the words, “I don’t know how to fix it!   _That’s_ why it was sealed shut!  It came with a warning, something that makes people sex-crazed, and I heeded that warning!  Now leave!  Before I call the cops for indecent exposure!”

“We _are_ the cops, dumbass!” Dean snapped, even though it was moaned in a loud, wanton and filthy way.  
  
Which had no effect on the man at all, really, who could be taken seriously when someone threatened you, but instead or anger it sounded like dirty talk—really?  
  
Oh, but it certainly made Sam’s cock pulse, even though it shouldn’t.  Damn adrenaline!  In a flurry of frustration, Sam needed to figure out something that would work, something to get Dean off him and to get them moving.  If this wasn’t a clusterfuck of a situation, he didn’t know what was—

Yeah, the guy was probably a bystander, nothing about him read ‘witch,’ he’d probably just acquired the load of goods upon the man’s death.  Right now?  They _needed_ to get out of here, especially if he did call the cops and their ruse was up.    
  
...And the only thing Sam knew Dean loved more than sex—

“Dean.  Listen to me.  We need to get back to the motel.  You need to get a grip, I know you’re under some spell, or hex—something!”  Then Sam pronounced over dramatically, holding his attention, “If we don’t leave now, the Impala _will_ get towed.  The meter is running out.  Can you hold it together for me to drive us back?”  Sam actually got his brother to look into his eyes.  “I’m thinking about your Baby.  Once we’re at the motel, we’ll fix you.”  He leaned in closer and whispered the promise of, “I’ll fuck you as many times as that spell needs me to, but you’ve gotta be a good boy first.”

Sam could see Dean’s adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, fighting tooth and nail to get himself under control.  As he fought that internal battle, Sam was left time to wiggle away and stand.    
  
He extend a hand downward towards Dean, who still appeared wild and lust-wrecked, but it was all wrong to be happening in this shop!  In a public place!  Sure, they’d pushed boundaries before, they’d played some games that were a little risky but outright fucking in broad daylight in a freaking store like this?  No.  Nothing about it was sexy, and Sam did not consent.     
  
Luckily, Dean took his hand, albeit shakily then slowly, _staggeringly_ slow, they headed towards the front doors, then out to the street where the Impala was parked.

Dean’s hand was sweaty, he was twitching and squeezing, like a junkie who needed a fix.  What the hell kind of magic was this?  Some kind of dust.  Maybe it was fae magic—mischief at its finest.  But Dean looked sick, he wasn’t laughing.  Actually…the more Sam looked at Dean, the more he looked downright hungry.  Like he was going to devour Sam the second he got the chance.  
  
The question was, if they didn’t know the type of curse, was he literally hungry like Famine when he’d taken over the city—or was he overflowing with lust and desire for—

The way that Dean watched him, licking his lips with his eyes dropping down to his tented pants told Sam that it was the second option.  
  
The guarantee in that starved gaze sent a thrill through Sam like no other, Dean didn’t look at him like this in public and Sam could _really_ get off on it…maybe if it was a little more tame—holding hands, not _pretending_ , flying under the radar to the rest of the world.  Yeah, Dean’s hard-on _did_ ruin the romance of it, but Sam feeling so wanted and needed trumped the rogue erection.  He could pretend for a second it wasn’t there and he wasn’t cursed, or something.

Sam opened the passenger door for Dean, making sure he wasn’t going to collapse or start to convulse from the spiked fever, and then he rushed around to get this show on the road.  There was no telling just how long Dean was committed to behaving.

Except, once he turned the car on, Dean had fistfuls of his jacket and was hauling him back, whining, “It feels like I’m gonna _die_ , Sammy.  Like, if I don’t have you, I’ll explode—”

“You’ll have me, you _will_ ,” Sam tried to push urgency into his voice, overlapping one of Dean’s hands with his own.  “We need to get somewhere safe, first.  Where we can be alone.  Where we can figure this out.”  He tried to reassure him with a rough kiss of his own, all biting teeth and wrestling tongues.

“Fuck _yes_ ,” Dean moaned against his mouth.  He nodded to himself, eyes closed tightly as he muttered the mantra, “Okay, okay, okay, we _can_ do this,” and toppled back into the passenger side.  “Drive fast.”

Sam scoffed and muttered, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

\------------------------

Tires squealed and Dean protested about the way Sam was driving, and that was excellent news.  If he could bitch, there was still some of Dean left, this curse wasn’t taking away who he was like the previous spell.  That was a huge step in the right direction, Dean was still Dean.  Sam had the key card in his hands and the Impala locked, but just as he was about to swipe it to get into the motel—

Dean body-slammed him against the door from behind, hips rolling against Sam’s thighs, groaning, “Need you, Sammy—”

“We need to get inside, dammit!” Sam was filled with sheer frustration because his hand was literally _inches_ away, but it was fucking pinned so he couldn’t slide the damn card!

Dean chuckled, feeling his brother up when he ordered more than pleaded, “ _You_ need to get inside _me_ —”

“And I will, let me open the door!” he all but begged, his erection trapped against the unforgiving wood.  It hurt, he hurt like Dean probably _felt_ , and he needed them horizontal, on a bed, now!    
  
Except, Dean knew this move from muscle memory, the way he had Sam pinned.  It worked on all _supernatural_ creatures he got his hands on—it rendered Sam all but helpless.  “Dean.  Let me go.  You’re not going to feel good from humping me like a teenager.  You’re gonna feeling good when I’m splitting you open with my cock, fucking you within an inch of your life.”

Just a moment of slackened grip, just an instant of hesitation was all Sam needed to flip around and grab Dean by the throat.  His eyes widened in shock, but his pupils darkened impossibly more at the show of dominance.  Sam needed to remind Dean exactly who was in charge, and he squeezed to do that.

Being assertive like this…it looked like it was all he responded to.  His brother was some kind of sex-crazed _animal_ , and he had to keep his hand tightly clamped around Dean’s neck as he swiped the card blindly from behind to make it open.  Sam dragged the maniac inside, who was now pushing against his grip.  Dean clawed to get out of the stranglehold, not caring whether or not he could breath.

Next thing either of them knew, Dean was swung around and shoved onto the closest motel bed.  With a bounce, there was gratification in his voice when he shouted, “ _Finally_!  Fucking _finally_!” tearing off his own clothes and ordered, “Sam, naked, now!”

Still, Sam was having a difficult time processing what was going on—the onset of whatever this curse was?  Normally, there was an incubation period, some time to set in and take effect: nothing was this instantaneous.  Still, he had his priorities.  
  
First and foremost, Sam needed to quell Dean’s insane sex drive—then he’d research.

From the ferocity and hunger, Dean laid there heaving in heavy breaths in all his glory.  He was just ripe for the taking.  While Sam licked his lips, he realized that Dean didn’t look like he had any plan of getting out of bed soon…and Sam knew it was time to dive in.    
  
From the pure sexual energy radiating from his brother’s body, Sam couldn't keep away if he tried.  He needed to take care of Dean, and he did so, _quite_ happily.  

\-------------------------  
  
Sam knew damn well that his lips were bruised, but the way Dean was kissing him made up for all of it.  The way his tongue brushed against Sam’s wasn’t just distracting, it took on a whole new meaning as they rocked their hips.  
  
Sweat, both dried and fresh wasn’t just clinging to their bodies, it was fog-like in the motel and it smelled like a locker room.  They had to open a window, because two bodies coming together, on repeat like theirs, had created humidity—who would’ve know?  
  
“Bend over,” Sam ordered, even though he didn’t want to leave Dean’s mouth, he could think of better things to do with his own.  
  
Especially when his brother was begging with a hoarse, cracking voice, “So good to me, Sammy.  Need you so bad.  You take such good care of me, I got so lucky,” he hummed when he got into position, “Please, please, I’ve gotta—”  
  
Sam grabbed Dean’s ass cheeks with both hands and spread him wide open.  He winced at how red, used and abused his puffy hole was.  This spell had to have negated any pain that went along with being fucked over, and over and _over_ again.  Because this was—what?  A day and a half in, and they were well into double digits?  
  
Nothing was slowing down.  Dean still whined and breathlessly demanded more, orgasms doing practically nothing in the way of solving  it.  Sam thought this would have passed by now.  If he satisfied him enough, maybe even after a few days it would wear off, but when Dean said he felt like he was honestly going to die if Sam didn’t fuck him?  
  
Well, Sam didn't want to test the theory.  Even if his own cock was raw and pained to the touch.  Shit!  
  
He was trying different approaches to make his brother see stars, and this one happened to be Dean’s favorite.  Back when he was a little more coherent that is, so hopefully it would still work in this situation.  Sam was grasping at straws, the next thing he may even try was _riding Dean_ , his brother was so desperate, both were so tender from pure over-stimulation.  Sam would do it, just to switch it up, to give them a reprieve.  
  
For now though, Sam flattened his tongue and lapped a long, drawn out line, beginning with Dean’s balls, up his perineum and flicked at his hole.  There was a gasp drawn from Dean and he began sway his hips, but Sam dug his fingers into his flesh more to hold him in place.  He made sloppy circles around his rim, each rotation he felt Dean tense, because he was getting closer and closer to lapping inside…  
  
“S-Sammy...please!  C’mon, I want it so bad, yer mouth is awesome,” Dean groaned, and since he couldn’t move his pelvis, he grappled for the (cum-coated) comforter and beat his fists against the mattress in frustration.  
  
“Mm, you know how I love to tease you, though,” Sam crooned, pushing in a proverbial ‘just the tip’ which sent Dean thrashing.  “I’ve been giving in to your every need.   _Every_ beck and call.  I think it’s time you actually learn some patience, big brother.”  
  
“I don’t have that!  This spell?  I told you, Sam!  If I don’t have your cock, your fingers or—hell, your tongue, I feel like I’m gonna lose it!  Like I’ll explode and—”  
  
Sam put him out of his misery by plunging into Dean’s well-fucked hole, the ring of muscles giving him no resistance, whatsoever.  The mere fact that he could lick into Dean as far as he wanted was a testament to the current damage from Sam’s cock.  It was actually hot, in a way.  Licking him from the inside, swirling his tongue around and rocking Dean’s world getting in there, _so damn deep_ , because of how many times he’d fucked him.  He could even taste his own lingering cum.  
  
“Oh, God, Sam!  You know how much I friggin love this,” Dean whimpered and tossed his head back, “So good with your tongue...keep licking me open, if you so much as touch my cock, I’m gonna explode—”  
  
Sam pulled away with a grin and asked, “Is that an invitation?” already in motion.  
  
Dean froze up as Sam’s giant hand wrapped around him and he purred, “You already know you could get me off by eating me out alone, right?”  
  
“I do, Dean,” he flicked his tongue across his entrance once more, “It’s one of my favorite ways to make you cum,” and then Sam dove right back in.  
  
Dean wasn’t joking about the hair-trigger response, as Sam plunged back into his needy hole and gave him what he wanted, his hand working in tandem with the pace, he was crying out and writhing uncontrollably.  Sam laid Dean back onto the bed to ride out his orgasm, fisting his cock just enough to keep the euphoria going, but the heaving and loud noises made Sam suddenly curious—  
  
Why hadn’t anyone reported them for noise violations?  God, they were loud, Dean  _unforgivably_ so, and maybe Sam had given into the thrill of mindlessly fucking Dean and that didn’t come with a filter.  Thankfully, it hadn’t happened.  And if no one was knocking on their doors already, they should be okay.  
  
Now was their only downtime.  Dean reached out and made the move to grab Sam and pull him to his chest.  He mumbled out, “I fucking love you,” which surprised him, and Sam wanted to make sure he didn’t regret it when he wasn’t hexed.  Just because Dean...well, could be _weird_ about these things.  
  
“Heh, c’mon, you just love all the different ways I make you lose it.  How I get you off, how I’d do anything and everything to milk that cock, make you feel amazing,” Sam rose just enough to kiss him thoroughly, and asked with a dash of hope, “Feeling any different?”  
  
“Like I miss your mouth,” he winked, but after a pause and a heavy sigh, Dean admitted, “No.  It’s the same as before.  But I really, really need some sleep or I’m worried I’m gonna get delusional.  Like, dehydrated, my brain’s gonna turn against me and,” he reached out and cuffed Sam under the chin with a smart-ass grin, “I don’t wanna miss a second of you having your way with me, you gorgeous sonuvabitch.”  
  
“Heh, I agree  About the delusional and dehydration part, at least.”  Sam nodded, because this was his chance.  “Lemme get you some water and we’ll try to get some shut-eye?  I’ll be here when you wake up.  You know I’m not going anywhere until you’re better, Dean.”  
  
“Yeah...” Dean’s eyes followed Sam’s every move, and it took a moment for him to wondered aloud, “Sometimes I don’t get it.  What I did to deserve you.”  
  
“Is this your cheesy attempt at pillow talk?”  Sam raised an eyebrow with a grin and brought a cup of ice water from the kitchenette.  “We deserve each other.  Not sure how it happened, but I’m not gonna complain or risk it being taken away.”  He kissed Dean’s cheek and asked, “Wanna try and pass out?”  
  
“Sure,” Dean sounded nervous, and Sam would be nervous if he were in Dean’s shoes, too.    
  
They were no closer to breaking this curse, and sleep deprivation following intense physical activity was a real thing.  Even if they’d saved the Earth multiple times and counting, when it really came down to it—they were human.  That was the ultimate accomplishment from all their successes, but the setback as they were vulnerable to shit like this!  But once Dean was off to dreamland, Sam had a plan.  And he was going to set it into motion the second he knew Dean was all right to leave by himself.  
  
\--------------------------

Sam had to make sure that Dean was asleep.  Really, _truly_ knocked out, cold.  Because if he woke the sleeping tiger… _shit_ , Sam may not make it through another round right now.

It was the middle of the night—edging on morning, he didn’t bother with much more than his jeans as he snatched up his phone, the room key and silently made his way outside.  No one was out here to catch him shirtless at four am.  

Even if someone did manage to sneak a glance, they’d probably assume he’d been attacked by a dog, or even mauled by a wild animal.  He’d let them draw their own conclusions—better than saying it was his big brother who’d left him in this shape because of a sex spell.  God, as Sam looked down at his chest to take stock, this was downright brutal.

Once he was beyond the soda machines, the rough sidewalk leaving obnoxious loose pieces of gravel between his toes, he pressed a number in his contact information and prayed for an answer.  Sam didn’t know when he’d get another chance—another break—like this again.  Any researching on his laptop had failed him, or only pointed him in dead-end direction.  
  
This was a last-ditch attempt.  They couldn’t go on, they couldn’t continue like this.  One of them was bound to give out.  
  
They’d run themselves ragged, and when the exhaustion set in, without a doubt, they’d—

“Samuel?”  _Thank God!_  “You’re lucky I didn’t send you straight to voicemail.  You’d think we were besties now and you can drunk dial me, or something.”

“Thank you.  For not sending me to voicemail, I mean.  I need help, I’m working two cases and I can’t focus on either because, I—”

“Excuse me?  Did you forget about your brother?  I’m _not_ your sidekick, Moose, I’m—”

“Rowena, that’s just it,” he groaned, leaning his scratching-post of an abused back against the brick of the building.  “Dean’s cursed, or hexed by a cursed object, no idea what it is…”

“Again?!  How is that even possible?” she sounded downright offended that a person could have such bad luck, and Sam didn’t blame her—he felt offended by Dean at this point, too.

“He was in an antique shop and knocked over this vase that was soldered closed.  There was an explosion of this _power_ , at first I thought it was someone’s remains, but it wasn’t ash it was...gold in color.  Then after he was covered in it…he turned into a sex-obsessed lunatic.  He said he feels like he’s gonna _die_ if he doesn’t get off, and it’s _constant_ , he's sleep deprived and keeps talking about how he feels like he's in a Ariana Grande song and I don't even know _who_ that is, I—!”

“Huh, how do you pay for all those girls?” Rowena asked with piqued curiosity, “Because with sex pollen, Dean wouldn’t be in any shape to go to a bar and find them himself, now, would he?”  She added as an afterthought, "Miss Grande was quite the deal brokered by Fergus, himself—he's a happy boy-o with _that_ one."

“Sex pollen?” Sam echoed, decided to ignore the last part which was over his head.  Give him hunts, give him the end of the world, don't give him pop stars!  “What is that?  And how do we fix him?”

Now that it was something on the scandalous side, she was all ears and helpful assistance.  Typical Rowena.  “How long has it been?  Have you been able to speak to him at all?  Do you know what shape he’s in?  Or is he just…rolling through the lassies.”

“It’s been two days, and he’s usually got two hours of downtime during the day time before he’s ready to go again—tops.  That’s usually for showers and food.  I spiked his drink so he’d actually sleep through the night, because he keeps waking me up,” Sam had been on the fence as to whether or not it mattered if Rowena knew, but the thought of her thinking _Dean_ would _pay for sex_ just rubbed him the wrong way.  It wasn’t like he needed to defend Dean’s honor, but he was suddenly protective and needed to defend, well, _them_.  “God knows _I_ need to get some sleep, after his amped-up bewitched-ass can run _me_ ragged.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Rowena said plainly, “There’s a wee bit of a plot twist.”  Then after a cackle, she said, “Sometimes these run their course, but it depends on how much pollen was inhaled.  You said there was a broken _vase_?”

“He was swimming in it,” Sam recalled the moment, and when he recollected he smiled because it looked like Dean had a baking accident.  Which wasn’t the first time he’d seen his brother like that and it was kind of adorable.  Except, flour was a whole other story without these side-effects.

“That’s…not good, then.”  Her voice was even, without a hint of inflection.  Simply the lack of tonation, by itself, was extremely unlike the vibrant witch.

Sam’s smile vanished at the drop of a hat, his hackles rose and he demanded, “Why isn’t that good?”

“Because fae use it to cause naughtiness in humans.  And they only sprinkle a small pinch on their intended.  And the normal fae is the size of _your hand_ , Moose.  That’s the kind that runs its course.  Think, to scale, how much your lover-brother was doused in!” she finally said with exasperation.

“Fuck.”  Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.  “All right.  But fae, they’re magic.   _You’re_ magic, Rowena.  Please, please tell me there’s a counter spell?  Something that can help, I don’t know, reduce this?”

“Aye, there is,” she sounded grim.  “But it will only stave it off.  It will break through during lunar cycles, when magic comes to a peak.  _This_ amount of pure, refined fae magic?  In our realm?  It’s unheard of!  It has already sunk into his blood, been absorbed right into his marrow.  I’m worried Dean may be a carrier, he may have this sort of…sexual deviancy through the rest of his life.”

“Wait.  So you mean you _can_ cast a spell.  But because of how much he got on him, uh, _in_ him—he’s going to be, like, a sex-addict-werewolf?!” Sam blurted out in bafflement, no right way to word it.

“If you want to look at it that way.  I work in the Dark Arts, Samuel, I’m a Pagan.” She scoffed, as though Sam should know her goddamn resume.  “This...isn’t dark.  This counteracting magic is from the Earth since we can't access the fae dimension.  Which is why we need to work with events, things that revolve around the tides, the waning and waxing moon.  I can perform a ritual that subdues it, but I won’t be able to completely remove it.  It’s already been in his system too long, I told you—it’s soaked into his bloodstream, the fae never intended for there to be so much in one place, it was never to be so _potent_.  Someone else gathered it all together, harvested it, and that was a grave mistake.”  She sighed and sounded genuinely apologetic, before her fake, bubbly voice perked right back up with, “As you said, you know werewolves who live _just fine lives_!  You’ll need to prepare for a little…break.  When the full moon rises.  Think of it as a vacation!”  Rowena was using that ‘trying to be helpful but I don’t know how’ voice, and Sam was silently freaking out.

Because…this witch was as legitimate as you got.  They’d learned that over time, they respected Rowena, her knowledge _and_ her craft.  If she said this was the only way, well…it was the only way.  The sooner she did it, the better.

The one, singular thing that left a horrible, stewing feeling in Sam’s gut was how intense this ‘sex pollen’ was.  How it had overwhelmed Dean to the point he wasn’t seeing straight, he was a vibrating ball of wanton desire.

What happened if, on a full moon, Sam wasn’t _right there?_

What if he was on his way, finishing up a salt and burn and Dean was falling back into this pit of mind-bending fuck-or-die need?  Would he…look for someone else?  Would he be so desperate that a hole was a hole?  Or a cock was a cock?  Even though they _were_ together, this was a messy, glorified curse, no matter how tweaked, and what happened if…

No!  Sam had to stop, they had to fix things in the here and now, because Dean truly was suffering.  Anything to end the pain and make him feel like a human again was for the best.

“Alright.  Can you get the things together and meet us?”  Then, as an afterthought he remembered the actual case— “Oh, as a bonus, there’s an antique dealer who was handed down a man’s property with an absurd amount of magical items and cursed objects.  If you can fix Dean, I’ll let you have a freebie and take one.  Only one!”  
  
He’d never heard Rowena scuttle so quickly on the other line before hanging up before.  If there was any way to lure the witch, it was for personal gain.  
  
Previously, Dean had led on that there were things said when his memories came back from that _other_ time he was cursed, insinuating Rowena wasn’t such a bad guy.  That was what prompted Sam to allow Rowena a souvenir when he normally wouldn't have.  Apparently, something happened between them and Dean understood the witch a bit better...but Sam didn’t see it.  But he trusted his brother, and he'd take Dean's word on it.   
  
It didn’t matter, Sam had nothing else to offer Rowena in exchange—and this was dire.  Besides, if something went missing it was better for her to get caught on camera than them.  He didn't care about the case right now anyway.  
  
Steeling his nerves and after looking back down to the reminder on his chest—this one actually made him smile—Sam marched to their room and moved as quietly as he could to get back inside.  He didn’t know what was waiting for him on the other side of the door, but knowing that Rowena was on route made him a little more...optimistic.  Besides, he loved Dean and he would take care of him in the meantime.  
  
And it looked like it was in the foreseeable future, too.  Sam wouldn’t hesitate, he’d always take care of Dean.

\---------------------------

After everything happened—and it had been _a lot_ —having to sedate a fierce a growling Dean ( _more_ witch magic) to tear him away from Sam upon Rowena’s arrival (pure possessiveness ran rampant through his veins), a blood sacrifice (poor animals), being knocked out for almost a week straight (sheer exhaustion from pure fucking), and then getting freaked out about the moon by feeling his body’s response to them (seriously, Sam was hyper aware without even looking outside)—for the first time in a long time, Sam and Dean splurged on an actual _hotel_.    
  
It was one that had a gigantic tub, a friggin jacuzzi they could indulge in, because _dammit_ , they earned it.  They were utterly spent, their muscles aching, even though nothing had clawed into them and there weren’t any bullet wounds, this was worse than any hunt they’d been on in the last...God, they couldn’t even remember!  Both men were stretched out and enjoying the jets, a miracle (Hallelujah!) they could actually fit in the first place—Dean’s back relaxing against Sam’s chest as he poked at some of the foaming bubbles and laughed.

It was amazing, just to see Dean happy and making his stupid bubble beard and Mohawk, humming an unfamiliar tune.  Like everything was back the way it should be.

“Jesus, this is exactly what my sore muscles needed!” Dean groused, briefly kicking his feet out of the water and lewdly adding, “Not much can save my ass, though.”

“Are you complaining?” Sam raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“Nope.  Not even a little bit.”  There was just enough room for Dean to roll around and lay on his stomach, now looking up at Sam from where they were both submerged.  “Hey.  What’s going on with you?  Just because I was cursed doesn’t mean I didn’t notice the way you were all constipated during the ritual.  Once I, uh, woke up and shit.  What gives?”

Sam chewed his lip, unsure of what to say.  He didn’t want to talk about his insecurities nor his assumptions, because they just pulled off a win.  A massive win, considering their bodies would’ve given out in another day or two.  Why should he bring them down?

Instead, Dean continued to pry.  “Is it the were-sex-freak thing?”  There was actually concern in his voice when he said, “I know it was hard, man.  It was intense and I really put you through the ringer.  But Rowena told me that was just because of the initial pollen blast, that it shouldn’t be that crazy again, that it—”

“God, _no_!  That’s not it!” Sam reached out and cupped his face.  “Trust me, I am all for a monthly week of sex,” he promised with a crooked smile, but his brother didn’t look convinced.  Fine.  He guessed the truth would _have_ to convince him.  “I was, as you said, _constipated_ , because I was worried.  Like…what if we’re separated?  What happens if I can’t get to you in time, Dean?” his voice dropped to a hushed, anxious whisper, “You _need it_.  You told me yourself.  And you…you can’t help it.  I get it, but I’m worried about me fucking up and then you—”

“Cheating.” Dean deadpanned.  “Sammy.  Come hell or high sex drive, I ain’t goin’ near a dick that ain’t yours.  I tell you _once_ , I tell you a _million_.”

“But Dean,” Sam tried to stress, except his brother quite literally slapped a hand across his mouth.

“Listen to me.  And listen good.  I’d rather wait, I’d rather _die_ than cheat on you.  I knew, okay?  I knew there were times you were gone, Sammy, that I was alone in that motel room.  I didn’t race out and find some skirt, did I?  No, I waited for you to get back.  Yeah, I was hot and bothered and on the brink, but I know I can count on you and I’m willing to put my life on the line for it.”  He slowly removed his hand, and Sam’s heart was pounding damn near out of his chest.

A smile shone brightly when his mouth was revealed.  “O-Okay.  Good.  I just…you know.  Sometimes I get insecure when it comes to…”

“My past.” Dean filled in the blank for him, Sam glad he didn’t have to, but it was always a shadow in Sam’s rear-view.

Just because his brother had been a notorious playboy, he’d been so good at it and the fact that, not _only_ was he in a serious relationship—but he was settling down at the same time.  He had to, with them being together twenty-four-seven.  In reality, both these moves were _huge_ and they happened at the same time.  It wasn’t like they could date and take it to the next level later, no, they had to be all in from the get-go.  It was a massive gesture to Sam, but it left a nervous tingle all at the same time.  No matter what, he loved Dean, and that was enough for him.

“Heh.  What are you gonna name it?” Sam asked candidly, running a hand through Dean’s soapy locks.

“Huh?”  Under the water, Dean slowly began teasing, running his calloused hands up and down Sam’s sides.

It tickled a little, so he wiggled away and chuckled, specifying, “Your dumbass monster names.  What are you gonna name you?”

“Oh!” Dean’s eyes lit up in understanding and then he appeared thoughtful, right around the time he brushed his hand against Sam’s rapidly hardening cock.  “Wererotic!”  He raised a suggestive eyebrow and pronounced, “Which means _you’ve_ got a thing for Wererotica, Sammy.”

A deep belly laugh caused ripples in the jacuzzi, a few waves sloshed over the edge of the tub, but Sam loved it.  He loved they could be so casual about it, that this was alright, even though it was a ‘new normal’ it was their normal and they would handle it.

“Wererotic, Wereroctica?” Sam let it play across his tongue, and nodded, “That works.  We can do that.”

“You mean, you can do _that_.  And by that, I mean _me_ ,” Dean waggled his eyebrows.  “Think I’m, uh, still feeling the last little bits of this spell wearing off…”

Sam sat up and pulled Dean close, kissing him hard, but with all the love in the world.  He emphasized, “I’ll be here, wherever and whenever you need me.  Don’t you ever fucking hold back.”

Dean smiled against his lips, trying to respond but his words were continually kissed away, and that was fine.  This was amazing, having some control back and the future may have been switched up…but maybe they could start playing in their sex dungeon now that they were promised a full week of madness each month.

“Yeah, totally need to update the sex dungeon,” Dean whispered against Sam’s lips, when he’d _meant_ to say ‘I love you’ but…it came out wrong.  
  
Priorities were sometimes skewed when you were under the influence of lingering sex pollen, apparently.

Sam pulled away just briefly, to stare at him, looking for tells as to whether he was serious or not.  “Okay.  We can redecorate, make it a little more cozy.  Make it our vacation getaway.”

“I love you,” —there Dean got it right that time!

“For the remodel of the sex dungeon?” Sam scrunched his brows, but replied, “I love you, too.”

“Good.  Now, let’s make the most out of this suite!” Dean’s smile was radiant, and at least Sam knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that that look?   That one was for him.  
  
Sam agreed wholeheartedly, and suddenly hauled their hips together in the heat of the bathwater, both moaning against the delicious friction—mouths just as greedy and slamming together.    
  
This, right here, was the perfect place to begin taking advantage of the suite, so they’d take their time and the first stop was the jacuzzi.  But, oh, it _was_ just the beginning.  Now, they could always blame their ridiculous chemistry on fae magic.


End file.
